2.62: Cornered

2.62: Cornered

Baku had been observing for three weeks.

At first, he told himself that patience was a crucial part of his work. Dreams always resisted in various ways.

Life in a dream world wasn’t very different from reality. People struggled, they cried, they bent, and sometimes they learned how to get by.

But this case was. Aoi refused to bend, fulfilling the requirements of her role to the letter in a very bare manner.

She wanted to live on her own terms. Baku could feel that with unsettling clarity. It radiated from her like heat from a coal that refused to go cold. And yet, she denied herself any happiness while it was within reach, enforcing a discipline so severe it bordered on self-punishment. In doing so, she was also punishing Sumire.

He couldn’t stop wondering why.

And worrying.

Why does she act this way?

This dream had less than three quarters of a day left to run. A month and a little more at most by human reckoning within his dream. After that, Natalia-sama would require him to end it all. He had been given a finite span to cultivate growth, warmth and resolution.

The desired growth was still taking place. By every metric that mattered, the shaping continued at least.

So why did he care so much, when he knew better than anyone that this dream world was temporary?

It gnawed at him.

Each day he watched her keep her distance. Watched her train Sumire with merciless precision, stripping every trace of tenderness from her teaching while still honoring the task that she had to fulfill, the promise she had made to Sumire. He watched her shoulders tense whenever Sumire faltered, only to harden again into cold restraint.

If she understands she is alive only thanks to this dream, he thought bitterly, why does she insist on living as though she deserves nothing?

His frustration curdled further every time he failed to corner the nightmare.

Once, only once, he had nearly succeeded.

He remembered it clearly. Another night when Pon-chan had escaped his cage, the dream-space rippled as the small ferret escaped and scurried somewhere, worrying everyone. Baku had followed the distortion, tracking the feeling of wrongness to a room in the school where shadows twisted.

The nightmare had been hiding there.

He had felt its hunger growing.

He lunged at it from cover…

And then a girl that had been looking for Pon-chan stumbled into the room and the girl, a figment she may be somehow saw him.

Not clearly. Not fully. But enough to make her scream. Which in turn made him hesitate. In that fraction of a second, the nightmare slipped free, unraveling into static and fleeing deeper into the dream’s seams.

Against the odds, it had escaped him again.

That failure still burned.

It made him wonder if the dream itself was fraying, if his control, once absolute, was beginning to thin. Dreams were delicate things. Too much tension, too much denial, and they began to tear themselves apart.

If I cannot stabilize this dream, he thought grimly, Natalia-sama will not forgive the waste.

So he decided to intervene where he could.

Quietly.

Carefully.

He chose a form that would not raise suspicion.

The gym was mostly empty when he approached, the late afternoon light slanting in through the high windows. The air inside smelled of paint, wood glue, and sawdust, evidence of the stage crew’s frantic final touches. A number of half-finished set pieces leaned against the walls, and a ladder stood near the back.

Aoi was there, her sleeves rolled up, working on something at the edge of a painted panel. Her movements were efficient and focused. She looked tired, but kept working regardless, as though she was running a marathon.

Baku adjusted himself.

The illusion settled about him.

When he spoke, it was in Kurosawa-sensei’s voice and he wore her likeness.

“Kurobane.”

Aoi looked up, startled for just a beat, then smiled politely. “Ah. Kurosawa-sensei. Did you need something?”

Baku Haruka, leaned against the nearest wall, crossing his arms in a way that was almost right. Not quite.

“I was just checking on the set work,” he said. “You’ve been staying late… but you’ve been half-ignoring your club activities.”

“I don’t mind,” Aoi replied easily. “I like working with my hands like this.”

There was a pause.

Baku tilted his head, studying her the way a teacher might have when something felt off but not yet actionable.

“How have you been doing?” he asked.

Aoi blinked, then smiled again, smaller this time. “I’m fine.”

“Are you truly?” he pressed gently.

She stiffened, just a little. “Yes.”

“I’ve noticed,” he continued, keeping his tone casual, “that you and Shinohara haven’t been spending time together lately.”

Aoi’s hands paused on the panel.

“That’s… not really anything you need to worry about,” she said carefully.

He nodded as if conceding the point, then added, “You’ve seemed troubled as of late. I wondered if I should contact your parents.”

Her head snapped up. “Why would you do that?”

“To check on you,” he replied. “That’s part of my job.”

“I’m fine,” Aoi said more sharply now. “Really. Please don’t worry about me.”

Silence stretched between them, filled only by the faint creak of the building settling on its foundations.

Baku watched her closely.

“It’s obvious you’ve been suffering,” he said at last.

Aoi’s jaw tightened. “Suffering is a bit dramatic, isn’t it, sensei?”

“Is it?” he asked. “You’ve taken on more responsibility than anyone expects of you. You train harder. You work longer. And yet…” He let the sentence trail off.

She looked away.

“I’m just doing what I need to do,” she said quietly.

“And what is that?” he asked.

She didn’t answer.

Baku pushed off the wall, straightening. His voice softened, not as a god of dreams, not as a manipulator, but as something closer to a concerned adult.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, “if I believed I only had a short time left… I think I’d try to be as happy as I could. Even if it hurt. Even if it complicated things.”

Aoi’s fingers curled into the edge of the set piece.

“Happiness isn’t always the right choice,” she murmured.

“Sometimes,” Baku replied, “it’s the only honest path.”

She said nothing after that.

He let the silence settle, then gave a small nod as if the conversation were over, as if nothing unusual had passed between them.

“Don’t stay too late,” he said. “Get some rest.”

“Yes, Kurosawa-sensei,” Aoi replied automatically.

Baku turned and walked away, the illusion holding until he was out of sight.

Behind him, Aoi stood very still.

And for the first time in weeks, doubt flickered across her face.

The classroom was quiet.

Late afternoon sunlight spilled in through the windows, highlighting motes of dust in the air. The desks were lined up neatly, our chairs tucked in. The sounds of the school had thinned to distant echoes, footsteps in other wings, the faint clatter of clubs setting up outside, voices muffled by the walls.

I knelt beside Pon-chan’s cage, carefully replacing the bedding. He chirred softly, curious, his whiskers twitching as he sniffed my fingers. When I lifted him, he climbed up onto my shoulder like he always did, warm and sweet, his tiny paws kneading at my collar.

Like always, I cleaned his cage with him snuggling up against my neck.

When I finished I nodded. “There you go, little one,” I murmured. “All clean.”

He nuzzled my neck, and I smiled despite myself.

This was the highlight of the night before my gruelling training with Aoi-chan. It was a crucible physically and mentally. But my loveless training with Aoi-chan the last three weeks hadn’t quite prepared me enough.

The door slid open behind me.

I turned.

Two familiar boys stepped inside.

The door shut.

They moved casually, too casually, each of them drifting to opposite sides of the aisle between the desks until they stood apart, blocking the path to the door without ever touching it.

My heart lurched.

Iwabe Tadashi smiled first. He wore that lazy, crooked grin I’d seen before in the isolated storage room in the practically mothballed wing of the school.
Koji Nakamura leaned back against a desk, already thumbing at his phone.

Pon-chan stiffened on my shoulder, sensing the mood.

“It looks like your guardian angel from hell has decided to abandon you,” Iwabe said lightly. “Isn’t that right, Shinohara-chan?”

I swallowed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, my voice thinner than I preferred.

“Did you forget us already?” Iwabe chuckled.

Koji laughed too, softer, almost amused. “We’ve been watching you, Shinohara-chan. We’re your biggest admirers. Don’t get confused… we don’t follow you all the time. We’re not total stalkers or anything.” He tilted his head, his grin widening. “Just… here and there. For about a month now.”

My fingers curled into the fabric of my skirt, my nails pressing into my palms without me realizing it.

Iwabe took a few slow steps closer, stopping just far enough away that it couldn’t exactly be called threatening. 

“You really shouldn’t be so careless, Shinohara-chan,” he said. “Public parks. Restaurants. Karaoke rooms. You leave a lot of things lying around, don’t you?”

Koji flicked his thumb.

His screen lit up.

My breath caught.

The park.

Me and Aoi-chan standing together under falling blossoms, kissing passionately. The angle was distant, but unmistakably us. Another… her hand on my waist.

The next was at the ramen restaurant that we ate at.
The kiss we shared in our semi-private seating.

And then the accessory store where I bought Aoi-chan her ribbon.
My hands lifting the steel-blue ribbon, Aoi-chan’s reflection in the mirror, her eyes bright and focused on me with so much love…

I felt dizzy.

Then he swiped again. It was the karaoke room.

The lighting was dim. Blurry… The door was visible in the shot… a picture taken through a narrow opening. Aoi-chan was straddling me… She was blurry, but clearly nude. We both were. My mouth was open… my face flushed.

“Stop,” I whispered.

Iwabe’s grin widened.

“We enjoyed watching you.” He seemed like he wanted to say something else but smirked. “Anyway, everyone will think you’re a slut if they see this,” he said pleasantly. “But to be honest with you… this is still the nicest version.”

Koji slid the phone across the desk toward me.

I stared.

The picture was screwed up.

My body was there. My face. The same positions we were in...

But Aoi-chan…

She was gone.

In her place there was a disgusting, bloated middle-aged man in a wrinkled suit, his arm slung in a sleazy way around me. The image was seamless, very convincing and extremely sickening.

My stomach lurched.

“AI sure is amazing these days, isn’t it?” Koji said with a smirk.

Pon-chan hissed softly, pressing closer to my neck.

Iwabe leaned in just enough that I could smell his breath.

“If you don’t want us to distribute these pictures…”

Outside, the volleyball cracked sharply against someone’s forearms.

Aoi-chan froze at that moment.

The ball dropped at her feet.

“I need to go,” she said abruptly, raising a hand. “Bathroom break.”

Shimizu-senpai frowned, but nodded. “Don’t take long.”

Aoi didn’t wait for permission.

She ran.

Her shoes pounded against the pavement as she cut across the school’s grounds, her breathing steady, her eyes sharp. The world narrowed to instinct, to a tug in her chest.

She reached the classroom on the second floor.

She slowed and stopped.

From the doorway, she could see inside.

Sumire-chan was there.

Cornered.

Aoi’s fingers curled into fists.

But she didn’t move.

“If you don’t want us to distribute these pictures,” Iwabe repeated softly, “you’re going to listen very carefully to what we ask for next.”

My heart hammered.

Pon-chan trembled against my skin.

I couldn’t breathe.

And the world held its breath with me.